The Imposter Alchemist
by mmmslash
Summary: Russell was tired of pretending to be someone else. One RussellxEd scene, but the theme of boylove runs throughout, so be warned. Rated for mild language and mild sexual situations.


First there was heat and light then nothing. At least, it looked like nothing. It looked like nothing but felt like sand being piled upon his body, weighing heavily against his bones and pushing him further into the rough mattress of autumn leaves scratching at his back. Edward heard his name being cried so loudly, he was afraid Russell would break it.

The younger man then collapsed on him, releasing ragged breaths across his ear and ruffling at his shaggy bangs.

"Jesus," he muttered into his wrist as Russell rolled off him.

Russell managed to quirk an eyebrow at the strange word, then shrugged it off as another of those "other-world" references his lover liked to use.

"Think that will last you a month?" Russell managed to ask after some recovery, nuzzling against the top of his lover's head.

Edward shivered and clung closer to the blond boy at his side. "Of course not, but it will have to. What are you going to do with yourself while I'm gone?"

Russell snorted and tried to look bemused, but his heavy eyelids were not cooperating. "I'll be doing all of _your_ work as well as mine." He planted a kiss on the sweaty forehead resting under his chin. "I will be plenty busy with you away."

"Don't forget your report to the bastard. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"You make him wait all the time."

"I can get away with it because thinks of me like his kid, even though he won't admit it."

Russell smirked and wrinkled his nose away from the tangle of blonde hair tickling at his nostrils. He idly brushed the dandelion-colored strands away with the back of his hand.

"Are you sure you don't have time to look over the report before you take off?"

Edward gave a long-suffering sigh. "I'm sure it's fine. And Mustang will be gentle, seeing as it's your first time," he said with a devious grin, "He really isn't that bad, you know."

Russell snorted and trailed his fingers along Ed's upper arm. "This from the man who refers to the colonel only as 'That Bastard.'"

"Yeah," Ed said, preening into the touch, "but he's _my_ bastard."

"I see," he said, then paused. "Does he know about us?"

Ed rolled his head gently from side to side, contemplating the concept. "Not in so many words, I don't think. I've never said it. But he knows we live together and he didn't need to be asked to assign us a place together when we transferred up here for your study."

Russell nodded weakly. "Is he okay with that?"

"We got our place together, didn't we? Besides, this isn't Xenotime, Russ. People are a little more open-minded here. Just relax a little."

Russell squeezed his lover closer. "I know. It just takes some getting used to. I didn't even expect your brother to take it as well as he did."

"Al's a good kid. He just wants everyone to be happy. And he knows you are what makes me happiest."

The taller blond let out a long sigh with his eyes closed. "You make me happy, too. You know I love you, right?"

Ed smiled softly into Russell's chest. "Of course I do. Let's go inside and you can help me pack."

Why weren't these numbers working out?

Russell lowered his head into his palms and stared through his bangs at the microscope in front of him. This just wasn't going as planned. He had gone over the figures again and again with Fletcher and both Elric boys and everything had seemed right. Maybe his control group still wasn't isolated enough. He didn't want to go into Mustang's office unprepared.

Russell supposed he could ask Alphonse again, or wait until Edward returned home. But he wanted to do this on his own. It was his project and he wanted to prove to - who? Well, himself more than anyone, he supposed. - that he could do this. He knew he could. He had, terrible as it had turned out, created the red stones, hadn't he? Not that he liked to hold that up as an example of his skills, but it was something that had taken intense research and development. Russell grunted and rested his head on the wooden surface of the lab bench. If he could create something as powerful as the red stones, then surely he could make soybeans grow in the Ishbalan desert sand.

Letting out a sigh, Russell forced himself off his stool and wandered slowly over to the bookshelf on the far wall of the laboratory, legs resistant with heavy exhaustion. Maybe he was missing something in the older botanical books published by small-town printers prior to the alchemical revolution. So much had changed with the development of alchemy, but he knew that wise practitioners still referred back to the old texts on the subjects they studied. This was especially true for botanical alchemists. Russell was, after all, still tinkering with life, a meddling not all that different than Edward's cursed attempts at human transmutation. Russell had often wondered what was so damned special about human life when compared to other life forms.

After pulling an armful of books from the upper shelves (where, Edward had informed him, the botanical texts belonged, but not for any reason related to reach-ability), he retired himself to the sitting room to pour over the words.

Russell sank heavily into his chair and lit an oil lamp. He began to read at an old herbal but stopped two brittle pages in. He realized it would be a whole month before Edward would be able to interrupt his reading with gentle kisses and nips at his neck in _just _the right spot. He sighed loudly, slumping his shoulders forward, a forceful sound that drew Alphonse in from the hall.

"Are you okay, Russell?"

"Just tired, Alphonse. You're up awfully late."

Alphonse gave a soft smile and flopped onto the floor beside Russell's chair, his long, jagged bangs falling over his eyes.

"Fletcher wanted me to check on you. Do you need help finishing up your report tonight? I've had to help Brother so many times, I can do them in my sleep."

Russell smirked and reached out a hand to ruffle Alphonse's shaggy hair while the younger boy's eyes began to drift shut. "You _will_ be doing them in your sleep if you don't go back to bed. I think I have it under control now. I just wanted to look over a few things before retiring for the night."

"It's two in the morning, Russell. Don't you have to meet the Colonel at eight o'clock?" he asked with an innocence on his face and a nag in his voice.

Russell smirked softly. That persistence must come from shepherding Edward around for all those years. "You're right. I need to be fresh to deal with The Bastard in the morning."

Alphonse grinned and extinguished the oil lamp before following Russell up the stairs.

The dry brown grass scratched at the back of his neck as his nostrils smothered in the musky perfume of aging apples. There was something so deeply autumnal about the fermenting fruit, something about the sugars stewing themselves into a drunken haze that could intoxicate without consumption. What Russell wouldn't give to just indulge in the sweet oblivion they offered and forget.

It had started out innocently enough. Edward's descriptions had been so colorful all those years that he hadn't needed to see Lieutenant Havoc to deduce the owner of the pungent tobacco odor that was infiltrating the office, announcing the smoker's arrival. Russell knew instantly that the small man with glasses was Sergeant Cain Fury because the young man was the one that reminded him the most of Alphonse. And the stout man in the corner, speaking only in masculine grunts around a mouthful of corn chips - that most certainly was Breda. First Lieutenant Hawkeye was distinguishable for the obvious reasons. However, one detail didn't fit with Edward's otherwise accurate descriptions of his comrades in arms.

When Colonel Mustang had questioned Russell about his experiment and the boy had responded with his carefully practiced, but still disappointing speech, the handsome dark-haired man simply waved his concerns away with the brush of a begloved hand.

"These things take time," he'd said.

"But, sir-"

"I've done hard time bent over the microscope, too, Mr. Tringham. I am well aware of the demands of laboratory research. I wasn't expecting concrete results yet. To be honest, I've heard so much about you that I was more interested in just meeting you in person."

Russell had found himself wondering where this imposter had hidden Colonel Bastard because, despite his fears, he had rather been looking forward to meeting the man that had kept his lover on his toes all those years.

Russell chuckled to himself and shifted to sit up against the bark of the apple tree. The colonel, too, had seemed a bit perplexed at Russell's demeanor.

"Are you positive that you are an acquaintance of Fullmetal's? Because, as far as I can tell, 'polite' isn't exactly in his repertoire."

Russell contemplated the too-soft apple in his hand, looking it over for worm holes before slipping its curve between his lips and taking a bite. He grimaced at the sharp, wine-like taste of the flesh and spit out the chunk he had taken into his mouth.

Oh, it had been going _swimmingly_ in the office. As strange as it seemed, he and Mustang had really been hitting it off. Why, it almost seemed that Mustang was flirting with him - and he would have thought so, too, had Edward not told him many times how the bastard just acted like that with everyone.

"That bastard calls it," Edward had said with a nose wrinkled in disgust, "_charming_."

Mustang had jokingly offered to let Russell replace Edward under his command, seeing how the younger boy was so polite and respectful of authority. Russell had half-jokingly refused the request. Mustang had, not jokingly at all, said that such disdain of the Amestrian military was to be expected - and rightfully so! - from someone with Russell's level of education.

Russell felt his back slide back down the bark. _Education?_ That really should have been his first clue that something was incredibly amiss. _Well, I _am _educated...self-taught, but educated_, he'd thought to himself. _What a kind thing for the colonel to acknowledge._

Even that hadn't been entirely disastrous. Not until Mustang had brought out The Folder. That damned Folder.

"What with your training under Professor Foss and the glowing reviews from Fullmetal - congratulations on that, by the way Mr. Tringham, for it happens so infrequently - I would be honored to have you under my command. What you're doing for Ishabalan agriculture really is unmatched."

Then he tapped The Folder for emphasis. That incredible, two-inch-thick Folder, that now seemed like it must have been encyclopedic in its size. Then, as if the heavy sound of its tapping wasn't enough, The Bastard (so _that's_ where Edward got that idea) had to go and fan through it, its myriad pages flapping through the air, sounding out in mocking whispers.

"His report here was enough to convince me. I trust you are doing fine even if results aren't up to your standards at this stage."

Havoc whistled. "Whew. And you _know_ how much the boss hates writing those reports."

Sighing, Russell heaved himself up off the ground and wandered off to his lab to run a few more samples under the microscope, bringing an aromatic apple along for company.

So what now? Russell knew that he didn't have the skills that belonged to someone who had studied under Professor Foss, whoever that was. He couldn't have done all those studies and had all those heroic adventures that must litter the pages of The Folder that Mustang had retrieved from his desk drawer.

This was hopeless, this staring at the microscope. He'd been gazing through its lens for the past three weeks and hadn't seen any changes. He'd adjusted the permeability of the roots, he'd situated more chlorophyll on the upper surface of the leaves, he'd altered the plants' ability for potassium absorption. The plants had refused to respond to alchemy, most twisting into knots and turning brown. The one plant that had the decency to produce fruit had only put out the tiniest, most withered looking single soybean he had ever seen and had a weird, slimy growth on the surface of the soil. That was the one that had responded to potassium content. At least, he hoped that potassium had been the stimulus and that it hadn't been a simple fluke of nature that produced the sad little bean.

He should have known that he didn't have the necessary knowledge to take on a project of this scope. For the military no less! He hated the idea of being anyone's last great hope and Mustang certainly made it sound like that was his official title where the Ishbalites were concerned. He would save their people from starvation out there in the desert where the military had destroyed the delicate ecosystem in a decade of war. _And_, Mustang had implied, Russell would be the one responsible for the easing of tensions between Ishbal and Amestris - the Amestrian military in particular - were he able to accomplish the simple task of revamping their entire agricultural system, introducing new foods and farming techniques - created through _alchemy_, which would surely go over beautifully with the Ishbalites who shunned alchemy.

Oh yes, no problem. Piece of cake. Why, someone with his _level of education_ could toss something like that together in a weekend, certainly. It wasn't until he'd tossed the second empty beaker to shatter on the floor that Fletcher and Alphonse had been roused enough from sleep to stand shocked and drowsy in the doorway of the laboratory.

"Is something wrong, Brother?"

Russell groaned and shoved that damned annoying swath of bangs behind his ear _again_. "Everything's fine, Fletcher. I'm just going to kill Al's brother."

Al shrugged and turned to head back upstairs, not having just heard anything that he hadn't heard before.

Alphonse had tactfully waited until Russell had at least six hours of sleep and two cups of strong coffee before broaching the subject of what would come to be known in their household as The Tantrum.

Russell had averted his eyes and found the murky surface of his black coffee to be very interesting while he listened to Al list all the reasons that his brother should mercifully be spared.

"And he does the laundry, you know. Even though he has to stand on the very tips of his toes, he hangs the laundry out on the line. And he helps you take samples from out in the vegetable patch! Remember, just last week he was taking stem tissue samples for you. And he was really careful this time, he told me so."

Russell grinned at the frantic way that Al was begging for his kin's life. He was going to raise a hand to silence the boy but found the nervous flush on his cheeks far too amusing to stop him.

"I don't know what he did but I swear that it wasn't intentional. He's not mean, he can just be stupid sometimes. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, at least that's what he tells me. He even tries to cook around here sometimes! And he got you that contract in Central-"

"That's the problem, Al!"

The younger Elric closed his mouth and sank quietly back down into his seat. "What do you mean?"

"He got me the contract with Colonel Mustang by lying about my credentials. He created this elaborate backstory for me, claiming I studied under some legendary professor, saying I did all sorts of chimerical research with vegetable plants, I think there was something about hand-to-hand combat in there..." he trailed off, shaking his head and obviously perplexed by the last item on the list. "What that has to do with botanical research, I'll never know..."

Al nodded sagely. "Sounds like Brother."

Russell slept outside that night with his brother and Alphonse, burning a small campfire out near their garden. He had been violently opposed to the idea, wanting to continue his doomed research, but Fletcher had decided that he needed to rescue his older brother from the laboratory at least one night that week.

"You've spent every waking moment in there since Ed left, Brother. You eat in there, sometimes you sleep in there."

So the younger siblings had dragged him outside, insisting that he breathe some fresh air. And they were right. After two hours of cool breezes, the warming scent of wood smoke, and amusing conversation, he had slept better than he had the previous two weeks he'd spent alone, hunched over a microscope. They were even lucky enough to fall asleep to a light sprinkle slowing dousing the campfire and rapping at the tight fabric roof.

One week of devastatingly lackluster research had led Russell to stand tentatively outside Colonel Roy Mustang's office door, contemplating whether he should just go in and be a man or if he should make a run for the hills and be a hermit in a little shack in the middle of the Drachma mountain wilderness until the end of his days.

"I believe it would be helpful if you knocked, Mr. Tringham," Lt. Hawkeye mumbled sternly from her perch behind her desk. "I don't think he'll know you're there, otherwise."

"Yes, ma'am."

After a timid knock at the door and the subsequent acknowledgment of his presence, Russell entered the office he had been seeing in his nightmares for seven days. He delivered the disappointing news with as steady a voice as he could muster.

"How strange that you've yet to see results. You've been on the project a month now?"

"Yes, sir. I've looked over my research time and again and I can't seem to find the flaw. Perhaps you would want to hand this project over to someone more capable. I would be more than cooperative with their efforts and would openly share what little information I have."

"Nonsense, Mr. Tringham. I contracted the assignment out to a man I know to be capable."

"I just fear that the military's money could be better spent with an alchemist more versed than myself."

Mustang waved that gloved hand. "Ridiculous. Ever since Fullmetal stopped his search for the Philosopher's Stone, the military's budget has been under significantly less strain. The things that boy destroyed..."

Russell found himself smirking. Edward really did bring out that trait in people. Mustang smirked in return to what Russell had previously called a smirk and he realized that he was at the feet of the master and, to stop what would surely become embarrassment at his lack of smirking ability, he straightened his mouth.

"That's the spirit. Now, I've been looking over Edward's report on you and found that you had been doing some interesting research under old Foss. How is the professor, by the way?"

"He's doing well, sir. His mind's just as sharp as ever," Russell said, trying to keep his voice and eyes steady.

"Ah, good. As I was saying, it appears that you were doing some chimerical research combining,-" he flipped through the mammoth Folder, "potatoes and tomatoes, was it?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you are uncomfortable with the direction your research is taking, perhaps you could explore that alternative? It seems rather promising."

Of course, at that point, he had to agree. What else could he do? The man only gave him the contract because Edward had lied about his credentials, not due to any talent of his own. And he hadn't denied Mustang's glowing words. So what else could he do?

"That's a brilliant idea, sir. I'll get right on it."

"Good, good. Come visit me next week with an update. I would be delighted to see the direction a brilliant mind like yours takes this research." Then he winked.

This was going to be impossible. A "chimera" potato-slash-tomato? _Pomato?_ Maybe if he combined the soybeans with some desert plant, they would be able to retain water more readily. But what a repulsive idea. How was the life of this patchwork, cobbled-together monster vegetable worth any less than all the human chimeras he'd read about being executed by the state? And why would anyone want to eat something like that? It just wasn't natural or decent.

That voice in the back of his head that never shut up informed him that there was nothing natural about creating the red stones, either, but that hadn't exactly stopped him, had it? And decency hadn't stopped him from impersonating Edward to achieve his own goals.

Russell slouched at the laboratory bench, staring at the assorted slides spread out in front of him. He knew that he shouldn't be mad at Edward. The older boy had only been trying to help him, to ease his entry into a world not dictated by Magwar and threats. But he hadn't eased anything.

If anything, Edward had only placed an extra burden on Russell's shoulders. Not only was he expected to do research for the military, he was now expected to do chimerical research that made his stomach queasy, and he was expected to do it all while easing one of the bloodiest tensions in the history of his nation. He'd never even read a single report on chimerical alchemy!

"Brother?"

Russell turned toward the door of the laboratory to see Fletcher leaning inside. "Hmm?"

The younger boy crossed the expanse of concrete floor and lifted himself onto a stool next to his brother. "Edward didn't mean to get you in trouble, I'm sure."

Russell smiled weakly. "I know. But it was still wrong and now I have to deal with the consequences of what he did."

"Let me help you. We can figure this out together."

He sighed. "I appreciate the offer, Fletcher. But I need to do this on my own," he smiled. "It's a principles thing."

Fletcher nestled his head against Russell's chest and hugged him. "I understand, Brother."

Russell rested his cheek on his brother's head. "Your idea for fresh air the other night was a good idea. I think I'm going to go out and enjoy that a bit right now."

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. This was very bad.

Edward Elric curled himself into a ball on his train seat, wrapping his arms up over his head. That was the worst phone call he'd received in a long, long time. That bastard was too damned observant.

The phone call had come late that evening when he'd returned from his investigation.

"I had an interesting meeting with Mr. Tringham this afternoon, Fullmetal," he had said.

Edward had known instantly what "interesting" had meant.

"Yes, very interesting. Have you, by chance, ever met his mentor, Professor Foss?" Mustang had asked.

"Yeah. She's nice. A little young for such a legendary instructor, but very nice."

"Not bad in the looks department, if I do say so myself," Mustang said and Edward could almost see the bastard stroking his damned chin.

"Yeah, I guess," Ed shrugged, recalling the slim redhead with curves like a sculpture. "Is there a point to this, bastard?"

Mustang snorted into the receiver and Edward almost felt the need to wipe snot off the side of his face. "I suppose not, Fullmetal. Don't stay away too long. I get the feeling that you are missed at home, though I have difficulty myself seeing why."

And with that, they had hung up. Mustang hadn't said anything that would indicate _exactly_ what he knew, but made it clear that he knew _something_. And so, on the train he went.

Russell was going to kill him for lying about him. Mustang was going to kill him for lying to the military. Was that a legally punishable offense? Why had he not paid attention to those damned rules all these years?

And he'd only been trying to help, to do a good deed for his friend. That had to count for something, right? Didn't it?

Edward groaned into his balled up coat.

Shit shit shit.

Russell had come to rest in the grass around the fire pit he had made with Fletcher and Alphonse a week before, curled around its stone rim on his side. A long stalk of dried grass hung out the corner of his mouth as he twirled the tassel-like end and watched its wispy fingers twist around themselves.

He shouldn't be mad. Ed had been doing what he had deemed to be the honorable thing. He'd helped his friend get his foot in the heavy military door, ensuring current and future income and a way to be near Ed when his business was in Central. And it wasn't that Russell wasn't grateful. He was. He was just so tired of not being recognized as a capable alchemist in his own right.

He'd been sick with the idea of pretending to be Edward when he'd traveled to Xenotime. Unlike Ed, he had a strong pride in the alchemical background into which he had been born. Nash, his father, had been a strong alchemist and had passed that talent - that skill! - on to Russell and Fletcher before he'd disappeared into the blazing glory that alchemy offered the faithful. It had hurt his pride to swallow his own history to play the part that was expected of him in Xenotime.

And this hurt, too. Again, he had to hide his own experience and pretend to have someone else's background. He may not have the education of many of the alchemists associated with the military and he may not have garnered the certification at the amazing age of 12 like Edward, but - damn it! - he was a good alchemist.

Russell propped his head up on his hand and supported his weight on his elbow. He poked around in the old ashes a bit with the stick and absently brushed a few ants off his shirt.

He needed this contract. He needed to know that he had something to fall back on, of course, to make sure that he and Fletcher could support themselves. But more than that, he knew that he needed this contract to ease his conscience. He needed to know that he could do what was being asked of him.

Russell swatted at another ant that had crept its way up his hip, not intending to crush its tiny body but squishing it nonetheless. What he was trying to do for Ishbal _was_ good. It was noble and he knew that he liked the idea of using his skill to help people and not for evil purposes like those that Magwar had used him for.

Russell had struggled for so long with his guilt. Fletcher would tell him that they had no choice. Ed would tell him that we all do crazy things for our own crazy reasons and what else can you do but pick yourself up and keep walking, hoping to do better next time? Al would be supportive in that quiet, Al sort of way, often offering to let Russell pet one of the new strays that "just happened to wander in."

He scratched at the back of his neck and poked at the old ashes and coals some more. He and Fletcher and Al had been rained out early in the morning after their attempt at camping and the ashes had clumped together in places.

Maybe if he could make the Ishbal experiment work, it would be enough. Maybe it would be enough to dispel some of that guilt, to finally prove to himself that he hadn't failed. Nothing had been enough so far. No number of reassurances and no amount of logical reasoning. But this could be it. And if he had to go into that lab tonight and create that chimera that he was dreading, then he would do it. If it could rescue a town from the brink of extinction, then maybe somehow it could make his conscience at least close to even, if not clear.

Russell pushed himself off the ground, poked once more at a clump of ash and...stopped. Ants were swarming inside the fire pit. The undulating shine of their hard exoskeletons moved like waves, shimmering under the low evening sun. They reflected such light that it was difficult to differentiate between them and the slime that had spread itself almost web-like over the ashes.

This was interesting.

Russell poked some more at the clump of ash that now sat on his desk, sifted through the pile of botanical reference texts on his desk and furiously scribbled at a notepad in front of him.

That the ants had been drawn to the slime and were carrying it away had indicated to Russell that it was a food source for them. He knew that the rainwater had turned the ashes into potassium hydroxide, one of the main components of the soap in Amestris - a bit of trivia he had retained from earlier botanical readings. Potassium had been what he'd alchemically "added" to his one marginally successful soybean plant. As he dug through the tomes spread out in front of him, he was searching for the bit of information that could tie loose pieces together.

Fletcher eventually wandered in and plopped next to him. The younger Tringham had found little use for the old books that Russell seemed to love so obsessively, but was always amazed at what his brother could pull out from them and apply to their research.

Russell had seemed so quiet the last two weeks and he was still being quiet. He usually talked excitedly with his brother as he researched, sharing interesting facts that he found and surprising research techniques used before alchemy had become more commonplace. Fletcher lowered his head to his crossed arms and closed his eyes. If his brother wasn't going to chat with him, he could at least take a nap.

"Fungus!" came the cry that roused the young boy from sleep.

Fletcher squinted his eyes at his brother and waited for the explanation that seemed to be tearing at the older boy's seams as his eyes darted frantically between three books.

"The slime is a fungus, Fletcher. There hasn't been much studied, but this book-" he lifted one heavy, leather-bound volume in illustration, "says that this particular fungus thrives in potassium-rich soils. This book-" he held up another, "confirms it and also says that the latest research shows that some fungus may form a symbiotic relationship with the plant life that it encounters, offering water and some nutrients in return for carbohydrates."

Fletcher had been lost somewhere around "symbiotic" but nodded for his brother's sake. "So you just need to design an array that adjusts the potassium content of the crops ?"

Russell shook his head. "No. That doesn't seem to work. The fruit isn't up to standard. But the problem isn't with the plants and not even with the soil composition necessarily. The problem in Ishbal is the whole ecosystem. All the disturbances over the years of war have destroyed soil structure, soil density, and the organic content of the soil."

"So we can't do anything?"

Russell shook his head again, not even seeming to notice when his bangs fell in front of his eyes. "This is something that alchemy can't fix. You saw what that one bean looked like. Vegetation is life just like anything else."

He left his brother in the laboratory to ponder (though he knew Fletcher would more likely plod back upstairs to bed) and headed out to the fire pit.

Alchemy wasn't always the answer. These old books that he had clung to for years, their science that had been neglected for the "easy way out" that alchemy offered, their secrets forgotten, they had held the key. The answer wasn't to trick anything into production. The trick, like with all life, was to nurture it, to gently coax it into vitality. These old sciences were valid in their own rights. They didn't need the approval of any board, they didn't require any fancy certification or exaggeration to what they did so well. Too long biology had hidden in the shadow of alchemy. Farmers, those who had tended the land knew. Biology was often nothing if not equivalent exchange, a circular cycle that became its own array in a way.

Yes, Russell could fix the problem in Ishbal. It wouldn't be the quick fix that the military had hoped for, but it was a solution and the only one that would work. There was no quick fix to what Amestris had been breaking for a decade. There was only the Law of Conservation. And an alchemist didn't always need alchemy to perform equivalent exchange.

Russell gathered a pail of wood ash and headed back to the laboratory for further experimentation. His next meeting with Colonel Mustang would bring good results and he could come clean - both with the colonel and his own conscience.

"Ah, yes, Doreen. How are you this afternoon?"

The young woman from Accounting giggled on the other end of the phone. "Just fine, Colonel. What can I do for you today?"

"I am calling to inquire about the status of funding for Mr. Russell Tringham's project. He's a civilian contractor under my division."

Mustang could hear fast fingers rifling through files, papers slipping past each other, and a _thwump_ of documents falling onto a desk top.

"It appears that his funding is cleared through the end of the month, sir."

"Hmm. Thank you, Doreen. Say, are you doing anything this Friday?"

In the background, Havoc rolled his eyes. He'd been meaning to ask Doreen out this week. He managed to curb his lack of enthusiasm for his commanding officer's recreational habits when the phone was replaced to its cradle.

"What do you plan to do, sir?"

Mustang shrugged and slid deeper into his chair. "I don't really have a choice. I don't want to let him go, but he's been lying to the State."

"Actually, _the boss_ has been lying to the State."

"Yes, that is a complication also. But, either way, the funding doesn't run out until the end of the month. There's no reason to let him go until then. By then, I can find a replacement and-"

"Sir!" came the clipped call from his doorway.

Mustang tipped his head up, tearing his eyes away from his scribbling in the small black book lying on the desk in front of him. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I have just received a call from a Russell Tringham. He has urgent matters to discuss with you and will be here shortly, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

Mustang leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. Ah, he rather enjoyed having all the chips on the table in front of him. He glanced up with an amused smirk at his subordinates.

"You are dismissed for the afternoon."

Not long after the men had filtered out of his office wishing him a good weekend and good luck on his date with Doreen from Accounting, a boy with floppy blond hair rushed into his office and stood at sloppy attention in front of him.

"Sir, Colonel Mustang, I got here as fast as I could," Russell panted breathlessly, "I wanted to tell you that I'm not who you think I am. Ed lied. I don't know why, I didn't tell him to, but he did it anyway. I didn't know until you told me, I swear. And I'm willing to take any punishment you want to give me, but just hear me out. I figured it out, sir. I was in the lab this week and I figured out how to fix their problem. It won't be with alchemy and it will take a while, but it's the only way. See, if we can improve their soil quality-"

Before Russell had a chance to fully explain his newly-sprouted theories, Mustang raised one begloved hand.

"Calm down, Mr. Tringham. You are not in trouble. This is Fullmetal's fault. Why don't you go have a drink of water and we can discuss this _calmly_ when you have gathered your wits."

Edward pulled his satchel closer to his body and heaved a heavy sigh as he approached Hawkeye's perch outside Mustang's office. When he'd called in from the station a mere half-hour prior, he'd been greeted casually by Colonel Mustang himself, something much worse that spelled more doom than if he had been immediately summoned to the office and he knew his fate. It settled heavy in the pit of his stomach and some seemed to have leaked into his boots because his feet were moving a lot more slowly than he would have liked them to.

At least it was the bastard. He knew how to handle the bastard. He could deal with Russell when he got home, assuming that it was even necessary.

He rounded the corner to see Lt. Hawkeye speaking to two very adorable young boys who seemed to communicate with enthusiastic hand gestures. Two boys with blond hair and...oh dear.

Al and Fletcher were there in front of him. That could only mean one thing.

"Hello Brother! Russell is waiting for you in the office with the colonel."

Ed nodded weakly and approached the office door. The damned knob seemed to turn a lot more easily and quickly than he would have liked. .

"Welcome, Fullmetal. We were just discussing you."

Ed gulped.


End file.
